


the undone and the divine.

by redhoods



Series: kinktober 2019. [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marking, Oral Sex, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 14:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20893412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: “My love, will you open your eyes for me?” Ferdinand’s voice is low, here in the privacy of their room, their bed.It takes a moment for his words to sink and, huh, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes. He licks his lips, forces himself to blink a few times, letting the world come back into focus. All he sees is Ferdinand above him and that’s all he needs to see.





	the undone and the divine.

**Author's Note:**

> this is.... *throws hands in the air* what do you expect of me anymore, it's just soft
> 
> day... something of kinktober was worship and grey said ferdibert.
> 
> title is from bedroom hymns by florence + the machine.

“Hubert.”

Hair tickles across the bare skin of thighs, calloused fingers run gentle down his chest, spread wide over his ribs. Warmth radiates from where Ferdinand has situated himself, and Hubert feels too aware of all of his skin, stripped bare, especially in comparison to Ferdinand, still in his trousers.

“My love.”

Hubert hums out a questioning sound that comes out far too high, far too breathy for his likes. Words seem to have abandoned him as well in these moments, even though all Ferdinand has done is stripped him bare and touched him feather light. 

And that’s all it takes, his armor stripped away, all his scars and imperfections on display for Ferdinand. 

Of course, Ferdinand has his own share of scars, war has left its mark on all of them, but like all things, he wears them with grace and poise. As he should, they were nobly earned in the pursuit of his beliefs. 

Hubert is not ashamed of his scars, far from it, but he’s well aware of how they look. And perhaps more so aware of how people speak of them when they think he is not listening. (Which is stupidity and naivety all its own, he is always listening.)

“My love, will you open your eyes for me?” Ferdinand’s voice is low, here in the privacy of their room, their bed.

It takes a moment for his words to sink and, huh, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes. He licks his lips, forces himself to blink a few times, letting the world come back into focus. All he sees is Ferdinand above him and that’s all he needs to see.

Ferdinand’s smile is bright, wide, even here when it’s just the two of them, “There you are,” he says, leaning forward, and his hair falls around them, like curtains of orange silk.

Before he’s entirely aware of it, Hubert is reaching up to curl a lock around one of his fingers. He can’t quite feel it for all the scars, just the distant sensation, but he appreciates it all the same, “Did you need something, Ferdinand?”

“Ha,” Ferdinand smacks a kiss to his cheek, then his forehead, then his chin of all things, “so proper, even here,” he says, still laughing soft to himself, his shoulders quaking with it. It’s not mean though, Hubert finds himself hard pressed to believe that Ferdinand’s even capable of intentional meanness. Another kiss, to the space just between his eyebrows, “I only wanted to make sure you were still all right. You were clenching your eyes so tight, I was worried.”

Exhaling, Hubert watches Ferdinand’s hair stir with his breath, then releases the lock he’d been holding to brush his knuckles along Ferdinand’s jaw, “I am, my sun,” he exhales quietly, “A little overwhelmed, but I will let you know when it’s too much.”

Ferdinand pinks above him and it will never not be a pleasing sight, the way just a simple endearment can cause this man to blush, especially as they are just now, “If you are certain.”

Hubert only nods, then drops his hand back to the sheets beneath him.

There’s a moment where Ferdinand simply _looks_ at him, gaze fixed on his face, before he leans over once more, brushing their lips together in several gentle brushes. More teases than actual kisses, but overwhelmed as he is already, Hubert has no protest to voice.

“If you need to close your eyes,” Ferdinand offers quietly as he lifts away again and his hands are moving again, gentle pressure dragging over each of his ribs, almost as though he’s counting to make sure they’re all present.

_This man_, Hubert clenches his jaw, shakes his head just once, then exhales when Ferdinand continues not to move on, to look at him imploringly, “I want to see you.”

Ferdinand smiles at him again, bright and easy, then shifts his weight.

It’s hard to lay still like this, leaving himself open and bare to Ferdinand’s sweeping gaze, but this is the part of himself he gives to no one else, this soft vulnerability is Ferdinand’s alone and Hubert knows he’d never take advantage.

Even if this infuriating man that he loves does dig his fingers into the place just below his ribs, the place that makes him jerk and squirm, because even in all this time, he hasn’t been able to rid himself of his ticklish nature in just that one area. “Ferdinand,” he warns, no heat to it, if only because Ferdinand looks so pleased with himself.

“Yes, yes, you will kill me when I least suspect it,” Ferdinand drolls, utterly unafraid and unperturbed.

Hubert opens his mouth to snark at him, to try and gain some footing back, but Ferdinand leans down and his words are lost as he watches, captivated.

Ferdinand’s lips are soft, easy when they press to his sternum and Hubert finds himself exhaling shakily against them. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it, the way that Ferdinand covers his torso in light easy kisses, the occasional flash of a pink tongue over some of his more prominent scars.

There are no questions though, like there sometimes are, just easy affection to all the spots Hubert never considered as needing affection.

“You’re still so thin,” Ferdinand says quietly, lips to the concave area below his ribs. Nothing more is forthcoming as he sets about lavishing attention on one of his more gruesome scars, cutting horizontally against his abdomen.

He twists his fingers in the sheet below him, vision going unfocused as he looks to the ceiling, because he can’t take the quiet devotion on Ferdinand’s face, can’t take the quick flashes of pink tongue, can’t take his pale scarred skin verses Ferdinand’s gentle freckled tanned hands.

It’s how Ferdinand catches him off guard, shifting again and suddenly, there’s a mouth attached to his hip, just above the jut of his hip bone. A groan punches out of him at the pain pleasure of Ferdinand leaving what’s bound to be a spectacular bruise on the spot. And those hands, deft and capable, gentle enough for delicate tea cups and dangerous enough to wield a lance with deadly focus, press down on his thighs, thumbs against the inside.

That’s the start of a searing trail that Ferdinand blazes down his right side, hip to thigh, almost to his knees, kissing and sucking and nipping.

When he can finally draw his gaze back, Ferdinand’s gaze is downcast, lashes a golden smudged against his cheeks, attention thoroughly fixed on his self appointed task. “Beautiful,” Hubert rumbles out quietly.

He can’t decide if it’s a good thing or not that it draws Ferdinand’s attention up to him, but it does and Ferdinand slides back up again, buffs a kiss against the purpling mark on his hip that looks nearly like a wine spill. Again, he’s caught off guard, half having expected Ferdinand to grace him with a proper kiss.

Instead Ferdinand shifts focus to one of his hands, still twisted in the sheet, though he seems undeterred as he pries it loose, pressing kisses to each of the knuckles in turn.

His grip is strong, unrelenting, refusing to let Hubert curl the scarred skin away from him.

“Here,” Ferdinand says, dropping one last kiss to his palm, then takes the hand and sets it on his head.

Hubert exhales quietly, sliding his fingers into Ferdinand’s hair, careful and easy, not pulling nor even gripping really. It’s grounding on its own like this though and he curls his fingers enough to scrape his nails over Ferdinand’s scalp, relishing in the soft sound it draws from Ferdinand.

Ferdinand offers him another one of those smiles, then leans back in, pays the same treatment to his left side as he had the right, another bruise, another line of kisses and gentle scrapes of teeth that have a fine tremble running through his entire body.

Then Ferdinand sets about, tracing every branching line of a Thoron scar along his left thigh, even the piece that branches improbably high up the inside. A sound punches out of him, low and throaty, when Ferdinand sets his teeth to the highest point of it and it’s his own fault, he’s the one that moves his hand, gathering Ferdinand’s hair so that he can see his face, greedy for it.

Strands brush his neglected cock though and it’s like being hit by a Thoron spell unexpectedly, the way his body jerks.

“Oh?” Ferdinand shoots him a glance, one eyebrow lifted high, grin sly, “I suppose the polite thing to do would be to help you with this, hm?”

Hubert rumbles a sound in his throat, aiming for annoyed and missing greatly, because Ferdinand exhales over his cock and there’s really no point in pretending. Not when he knows his face is red, not when he’s leaking all over his belly when all Ferdinand has done is explore his body with his mouth without even sparing a glance to his cock.

“What was that, my love?” This playful streak of Ferdinand’s had been a revelation in the beginning, but now he almost misses the shy, demure Ferdinand from the beginning of their relationship.

Almost.

“Ferdinand,” he exhales, fixing his gaze on Ferdinand’s grinning face, resists the urge to cover his own, “Please.”

The grin softens into something smooth and smitten and quietly pleased, “Of course, Hubert,” and one of those capable hands wraps around the base of him and he absolutely has to close his eyes, can’t watch as Ferdinand’s tongue slides over the head of his dick as he takes him in.

His breathing sounds too loud to his own ears, given that he can still hear it over the pounding of blood in his ears, over the sounds that Ferdinand is effortlessly drawing from him as he sinks down slow and easy, like he’s got all the time in the world.

They do, really.

But he hopes Ferdinand doesn’t take it.

Both of Ferdinand’s hands bracket his hips and sometimes, it’s easy to forget just how powerful, how strong Ferdinand is, but this isn’t one of those times, he can feel every bit of it as Ferdinand presses him down into the bed as he starts to move, working his mouth over his length.

Hubert’s toes curl and he knows this isn’t going to last long, there’s no possible way for it, not now that Ferdinand is focused on the task at hand, “Ferdinand,” he exhales around a moan.

The hands on his hips lift, but so does Ferdinand’s mouth, and he’s not expecting the press a lips to his jaw, “Hubert, look at me, my love.”

He blinks and Ferdinand is right there, hair curtaining around them again, “Hello,” he croaks out quietly.

“Handsome,” is Ferdinand’s reply, and then kisses him as his hand wraps around his cock.

And that’s all it takes, his hips jerk up into Ferdinand’s touch and his mouth opens in a soundless cry as he comes, spilling over Ferdinand’s hand.

When focus comes back to him, Ferdinand is brushing soft kisses to his jaw and throat, a hand petting up and down his flank in gentle strokes and it takes a few long seconds for him to will his hands back to his control so he can skate one down Ferdinand’s back.

Ferdinand gently bites at the hinge of his jaw, moves down and worries another mark at the juncture of his neck and shoulder where his collar might cover it. Then lifts away to look at his face, their gazes meeting, “Back with me?”

“I am,” he answers, his voice hoarser than he expects as he trips his knuckles over the notches of Ferdinand’s spine, “You should take care of that,” he adds, shifting his thigh against the hard line of Ferdinand, still trapped in his trousers.

“Nonsense—”

Hubert tugs gently at a loose curl, “I want to see.”

Ferdinand goes deliciously pink, swallows near audibly, before he nods, “If you insist.”

“I do,” he says, and nudges Ferdinand’s hip, gets both hands on his hips, shifts Ferdinand until he’s straddling his middle. And because he can, thumbs the line of Ferdinand’s cock through his pants, rubs his thumb over the wet spot the head is creating through the fabric.

“Ah,” Ferdinand’s chin tips to his chest, that blush spreading as he wastes no time with the laces of his trousers, shoving them and his smalls out of the way enough to free his cock.

Hubert hums, frames his powerful thighs with his hands, “That’s it,” he breathes out, his own heart rate finally levelling out, “Let me see you, beautiful, be good for me.”

Ferdinand’s moan echoes off the stone walls as his head tips back and his fingers wrap around his own cock. There’s nothing gentle about his movements now, quick and harsh as he chases the edge. Humming, quiet and pleased, he only watches, digs his fingers into the muscle of Ferdinand’s thighs, licks his lips, rumbles out, “Ferdinand.”

And that’s all it takes, Ferdinand cries out, spilling over his hand and onto Hubert’s belly.

Ferdinand slumps like his strings has been cut, sprawled across his chest, and Hubert ends up with hair in his face and sticking to his own sweaty skin and he cares not at all, starting the gentle process of coming his fingers through the wild curls.

Soon, they’ll have to get up, clean up, and he’ll take a comb to Ferdinand’s curls like he’s taken to doing every night, but for now, he’s okay with being squished down into their bed, Ferdinand warm and tucked up under his chin right where he should be.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @vowofenmity
> 
> interrupted and collars are the next prompts.


End file.
